Letters I'll Never Send

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A week ago I was admitted into the E.R for a pill overdose. I don’t remember a lot but I remember enough. I even remember the needle going into my stomach to prevent Blood clots I remember them putting in a catheter, I remember be asked over and over how much I took and I remember answering yes when the Doctor asked me if I was trying to kill myself. I was in ICU for three days. I had Doctors asking me over and over what I did and I had to keep repeating that I took a bottle of pills. I had social workers come I asking me why I did it and if I would try again. I remember lying that I had never tried before. This was the closest I’d ever come. While it’s true I probably wont try again it’s not because I don’t want to die still it’s because I don’t want to risk failing again and having to go through all of that over. Once I was medically fit to leave they send me to a crises place where I had to stay in what felt like a prison over night. They put me in a room with big open windows and a small bed. I constantly had people watching me. Luckily I only had to talk to someone one time there and that was when I first arrived. I now have to see a counselor. I was diagnosed with depression when I was in elementary school. Last year I asked my Doctor for help. She said she couldn’t do anything unless I told her right then I was going to hurt myself and if I said that she said she would have to call the police. I did try and get help, no one would help me. I teach dance and the hardest part about this is no one outside of my family knows that I tried to kill myself. They think I was out sick for a week. Only one person knows I was in the hospital. If I told them maybe they would understand why I go silent and curl up into myself in class. Maybe they would realize that when I look said it’s because I am. I am not alright I have not been alright for a long time. But I can’t tell them this. Matter of fact even though my mother constantly says I can talk to her about anything I can’t even go in there with out her bitching about her problems. I wish I wouldn’t have made it to the E.R I wish I would have died. No life doesn’t get better. You still have to deal with people who don’t get it, people who make you hate yourself, people who make you feel horrible. You still have to work mindless shitty jobs and go to school to hopefully get a job you at least some what like. You still have to live a life that you don’t want. It doesn’t get easier. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even kill myself properly.

Thank you for sharing this about yourself. And I’m sorry for what you are suffering. I came close once, to trying to kill myself…it was about 8 years ago, I’d made A LOT of stupid mistakes with my life, and the end results of those mistakes had left me out of a job and in helly financial debt. So, I decided I’d be better off dead, period the end. Then I got some pills and some booze, a hand gun and a hose, I was headed for my car, and one way or another I WAS going to end it.

What stopped me, two things, the first one being a friend that showed up at my home and right when I was getting into my car; he needed ‘my’ help.

Yep, something so simple as that, ‘a friend looking to me for some help.’

So, I didn’t tell him what I was about to do, instead, I told him sure, I’d do what I can for him, while secretly in my mind I’d just told myself after I did what I could for my friend, then I’d finish what I planned on doing to myself before he unexpectedly showed up.

What my friend wanted, BTW (by the way), was a ride to another city to go to some music concert. Taking him there would be a two and half day trip, this in turn gave me ‘a little more time to think’, and so what I realized during that down time was that there were still people in my life who needed me. Not just him, one of my friends, but also my two kids, who at that time were young adults who had just recently left home on their own.

Yeah, it was just a ride to concert, but still: I was needed.

Also, though my kids by then had left home (and are still living on their now), that doesn’t mean that there won’t be times in their lives when they need me, too. And so it was ‘while taking that little bit time to help out my friend’ that I was ‘then able to realize this’ about my own kids.

So, I’m stating to you now: find ways to be needed, because I bet you are. I bet you really REALLY ARE NEEDED.

And it doesn’t have to be anything really major, it can be something as simple as ‘just being there’ to give a ride to a friend in need, Hon.
Or volunteering some of your time (online and off), as best you can, to others with needs, because in this world, there is ‘no end’ of people who need.

There’s then ‘so much more’ that can come from that process, that I feel ‘will be huge benefit to you’ too.

Also, therapy for depression, I feel, can ALSO be found in some unusual ways, one being like this site here: just by being able to post your feelings here, things you have gone through, and/or are dealing with.

You need ‘emotional support’ too, so use the internet and look for sites that support people with depression. Then ‘keep opening up’ and share what you feel with others who feel the same.

Every little thing that you CAN do, I feel, will add up to something BIG for you.

God didn’t save me, my parents who drove me to the hospital and the E.R. Doctor named Michael saved me.
I volunteer at a dance hall teaching kids and helping with the Teens class, they are the closet people to me and have no idea about whats happened.

I drowned a bottle of aspirin and a few other weird named pills down. I cried myself to sleep and waited to fade away. It was my dad’s birthday. Know what I gave him as a present? A trip to the E.R. and a depressed little 14 year old daughter. The worst part? That damned nasty charcoal drink they made me take. I drank charcoal, I threw up charcoal. I was so disgusted I had forgotten why I was in the hospital. Then, at the age of 16 I snapped again. Broke a razor from my shaving and cut. And cut. And cut. Blood ran down both sides of my arms and I thought, yes. Until the cops broke down the door and dragged me to a mental institute. What did I learn there? It’s all bullshit. Everything is bullshit, depression is bullshit. I hurt my parents deeply. On the bright side I have these cool scars running up and down both my left and right arms. Woo, life scars and rude stares.
Anyway, my parents. They cry for me, they worry sick and they wonder what they’ve done wrong. Everyone blames themselves for my decisions. So, suicide is selfish. It’s the most selfish thing a human being can do, because one is deliberately taking a loved one from others. Sure, it’s by choice- But who are you to rob them of their happiness because you cannot find your own? The best thing is to find happiness in life. Family. Nature. Go see a movie, go walk in the park, dance in the rain, kiss a hot guy/girl/whatever. Laugh. Look up a picture of a baby anything (my favorite being a baby fox). The people I’d leave behind, the pain I would cause them, the burden and memories they’d have to carry on for the rest of their lives- Wow. That’s a heavy thought.

You teach kids, correct? You are their heroes. Their inspiration and their mentors. You cannot abandon them, ever. What would they do without you? It’s cheesy, but so true: You have so much to live for.